


Purpose

by WL_Erkling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Healer, Mediwitch - Freeform, Multi, Order of the Phoenix - Freeform, first wizarding war, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 03:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14011143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WL_Erkling/pseuds/WL_Erkling
Summary: He asks why I decided to become a healer and the question is so complicated I’ve got to take him back nearly to the beginning. I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure if I’m ready. [Poppy/ Gideon/Fabian; First Wizarding War]





	Purpose

**Author's Note:**

> For the Healer & Mediwizard Competition: this is a judge's entry. It is not up for voting, but merely for your reading pleasure. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters, settings, themes, etc. from the Harry Potter universe are property of J.K Rowling. I make no profit from the writing or sharing of this story.

He’s so eager, so young, this boy sitting in his chair with a camera clutched between his fingers. What was his name again? That’s right,  _ Colin _ .

 

“What was it you were doing the article on again?”

 

He fumbles, turns a knob on the device as he pointedly avoids looking at me. “What ma-made you decide to become a healer, madam.”

 

Curious eyes finally look up and he stills.

“I almost didn’t.”

 

“Really?”

 

There it is again—the naivete that I’ve been doing this my entire life, without any hesitation or doubt.

 

“That’s a long and complicated story, Colin.”

 

“I have time,” he replies, as if my story is nothing,  _ means  _ nothing.

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

Hogwarts was a different place then. It was somehow freer—if you can imagine it, more beautiful. That’s when I met them.

 

They were a year ahead of me and had established a reputation. What sort? Oh, it was definitely  _ that  _ sort, I promise. Gideon was tall, broad-shouldered with light strawberry hair that you wanted to run your fingers through all afternoon. Fabian was slender, with darker auburn hair and he had this devious smirk that burned straight into a woman.

 

At first, I didn’t have much interaction with them outside of Hogsmeade weekends or Quidditch games. There was the occasional library incident, though. Hmm. Yes, I remember those fondly, now.

 

We sort of gravitated toward one another. I don’t remember exactly how it happened. One day we started sitting with each other at the house table and that led to huddling together in the common room after meals. Studying together became normal. They were a great resource for Defence and Gideon was brilliant at Charms.

 

Sixth year, it became something more. It became the three of us. We were an  _ us  _ I suppose, at that point; we just didn’t know what to call it. The wizarding world is kinder to those of us who have plenty of love to give, you’ll find. It wasn’t exactly easy—no. It’s never easy dealing with the wants and needs and jealousies of two men, but when it’s right, it’s beautiful, and I wouldn’t trade a second of it for anything.

 

We lived together after Hogwarts. I started to pursue Healer training and they were off seeking their own interests, trying to settle on something of value, of importance.

 

That’s when… well, that’s when  _ he _ was first coming to power. Yes, you know exactly who I’m talking about. He pronounced himself the new Dark Lord, with an army the likes of which the wizarding world hadn’t seen since—let’s just say it had been a long time. Then came the Death Eaters. They started attacking Muggles in the open, breeding chaos everywhere.

 

It was—

 

It was traumatic for those of us with family in the Muggle world.

 

I worried every day that one of them would find my sister or my mother and torture them. I thank Merlin every day they made it out alive when so many others didn’t.

 

That’s not what you want to hear, though, is it? I have your interest now? Everyone always wants to know about the war.

 

All right then.

 

Albus—excuse me, _Professor_ _Dumbledore_ —started the Order of the Phoenix to try and help bolster what little the Ministry was doing. It seemed they didn’t have enough hands to go around; hands that weren’t bought and paid for with _his_ galleons, at least.

 

There were just a handful of them. Albus, Edgar Bones, Dedalus, James and Lily…

 

By the time Gideon and Fabian joined, I’d been at Hogwarts for some time as resident Mediwitch. They both wanted to help with the fight. I remember arguing for hours when Fabian brought it up over dinner. That night, I’d seen my first case of spattergroit in the school and I was entirely too tired to discuss anything difficult, but they were determined to see it through.

 

It’s something I cherish now, but I remember throwing a meatball at Gideon and the astonished look he gave me before standing, grabbing Fabian’s arm and surrounding me in a saucy hug. To say I don’t like being tickled is an understatement and they were enthusiastic in that, if little else.

 

We ended up on the floor, a tangled mess of emotions and food and questions that needed time to process.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

He’s uncomfortable listening to all of this, but there’s a part of Colin that wants to know more, so he doesn’t interrupt. Maybe it’s too much for him, all of this. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling him any of it.

 

Maybe I need to.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

The fighting grew worse. Often, I’d come home to broken bodies and bloody soldiers sitting in our house waiting for help. I did what I could for the skin and bones, but there’s only so much you can do for the soul of a man who’s had to watch a child be tortured, murdered, torn apart by devils wearing the face of someone you used to know.

 

And then… there was Alastor. Fabian was away with some of the others, somewhere he wasn’t allowed to disclose and Gideon sent me an owl to say they’d be going on a raid. Somehow, word came of a Death Eater stronghold near Hogsmeade. Dumbledore didn’t want to wait, so they took as many as they could find.

 

Gideon almost—

 

He—

 

I nearly lost him.

 

Instead, the Hogwarts infirmary filled with Order members who’d been caught unaware. The Death Eaters knew they were coming. They knew. Alastor was always so careful to check for wards and spells, but this time, this time even he wasn’t careful enough.

 

Students can be so nosy. I had to close the infirmary; Albus told the students there was a minor outbreak—of what, I don’t know. I never thought to ask.

 

At the time, I was busy trying to staunch the bleeding from Alastor’s leg. The spell that caught him sliced his leg nearly in half, but not quite. Even back then, he always had that damned flask on him, so he was drunk by the time he got to me. The others apparated him in, nearly splinching the bottom half of his leg because no one was touching it and it was barely hanging on.

 

I couldn’t save it. I didn’t know if I could save  _ him _ .

 

He started turning a rather alarming shade of green and I knew I couldn’t help him. Gideon stopped me from running, but I forced them to take Alastor to St. Mungo’s.

 

His injury was beyond me. There are some things you just aren’t prepared for.

 

Looking at Alastor and wondering if that could have been Gideon,  _ when _ that might be one of them, was too much.

 

I spent the rest of the evening working by rote muscle memory. My spellwork was barely effective. Potions did most of the work and I’m sure they were all glad of that.

 

The castle was suffocating me. My own ward was claustrophobic. I had to get away and the only safe place was my home, the home I shared with Gideon and Fabian. When I got there, it was empty. The implications of that hit me instantly.

 

They weren’t there. What if they never came home?

 

It was a very real possibility at the time that one raid, one spell could take them away.

 

My thoughts and emotions got the better of me and Gideon found me curled up in the kitchen against one of the cabinets on the floor. His arms were dead things as they wrapped around me. I knew they should have been comforting. I knew they should have been a warmth, a beacon of hope, but all I could think was  _ are these the arms of a dead man _ ?

 

I vaguely recall him sending a patronus to Fabian. Of course, neither of us knew where he was, so we didn’t know if he could leave.

 

Gideon forced me out of my bloodied clothing into a bath. He scrubbed me clean and put me in comfortable clothes. Next came the couch and a mound of blankets.

 

Warmth is essential when you’re in shock, you see.

 

A mug of tea was shoved into my hands and I remember the way it smelled distinctly of the boys. It was our favorite—Darjeeling with a hint of lemon juice.

 

Fabian arrived sometime between Gideon sitting beside me and the last of my tea. He leaned his chin on my shoulder and I was surrounded by them, their love, and it was too much. Crying felt shameful. For some reason, I felt like I didn’t have the right to be upset. I was alive. They were both alive. So many others weren’t. So many were injured or damaged or scarred.

 

That’s what war does.

 

My lovely Fabian. He always knew what to do for me. Gideon was the more practical, but Fabian was better at reading my emotions, at knowing what I said without words. At first, he whispered to me. His words were jumbled and I wasn’t quite understanding what he said. He took my hands, held them tightly in his and looked over my shoulder at Gideon. I felt the energy building between them. They had a way of doing that—of letting the magic fill the air, sifting it back and forth between them, until someone grabbed for it.

 

It was Gideon. He—

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

This is too much, maybe. Colin surely doesn’t need to know this. He’s too young.

 

I can’t tell a child—

 

“What did Gideon do?”

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

Gideon wrapped his arms around my chest until it was difficult to breathe. His lips brushed my ear as he spoke plainly, clearly against my skin.

 

He said I was safe.

 

All I could do was look straight across to Fabian, whose hands rubbed at my thighs under the blanket.  Deft fingers traveled up until they reached my pajama pants. I couldn’t move. I had to trust they wouldn’t let me fall.

 

They didn’t.

 

Instead, they slowly unburied me from the blankets, took my clothes off, and reassured me, piece by piece. It was Fabian who took me that night. I remember the slow burn as he pushed inside, my legs wrapped around him, forehead dropped to his shoulder. I was a heavy weight and he carried me. They both did. Gideon never left me—us. When Gideon encouraged me to sit up, to look at his brother, it was over.

 

Looking at someone, truly looking, as they take you apart is one of the most difficult things you can do. Fabian made it his drug of choice. He got off on knowing how to burrow inside of us so deeply he  _ became _ us.

 

I slept that night curled between them on the couch. I woke up once, mumbling about not being able to save it, worried about the infection, and Gideon gave me a dreamless sleep.

 

That’s right. Sometimes healers need a little help, too.

 

After that, I had a hard time at Hogwarts. Dumbledore noticed me pulling back, recoiling with some of the worse injuries and hexes. I referred them instantly to St. Mungos and he grew suspicious.

 

It boiled to a head when he came in and found the supply cabinets nearly empty. Can’t   treat anyone if you don’t have the potions, I figured. He was furious.

 

Try explaining the effects of trauma to a man who thrives on it. Try telling him that you’re not brave enough for the war he’s fighting. Try telling him that you never signed up for this.

 

Dumbledore had a plan for everyone. Apparently the plan for me included being a healer, because somehow he convinced me to keep my job.

 

The boys noticed me pulling back, too. They were worried after Alastor. After an Order meeting, they tread carefully around me, and it was obvious they’d talked to Dumbledore.

 

This time, Gideon was the resilient one. I’d had a rough day at work and immediately went to the bedroom to hide. Gideon gave me some time, but eventually he dispelled my privacy charm and crawled under the covers with me.

 

His whispered words, the way his fingers worked along my side, and my utter exhaustion worked against me. I felt the warmth of him at my back and we rocked gently together. There’s something to be said for a man who makes promises during sex, who speaks to the hollows of your neck as you’re panting and writhing against his hand while he ruts against you.

 

It’s another sort of man whose promises are long forgotten by morning when he leaves the bed cold and empty for another Order mission he can’t discuss.

 

That went on for weeks. They disappeared. Sometimes, one or both of them would be back the same day. More often than not, they were gone for days—weeks at a time. It was up to me to mend their broken bodies after I’d spent a long day at work healing others.

 

But they were always grateful—oh yes, they repaid me in gentle touches followed by empty assurances.

 

Those sorts of things are meant for women of little importance, not someone you say you love.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

He fidgets with the camera again. Does he want a picture? He hasn’t asked for one yet. Maybe he wants one at the end, after I’ve relived all of the trauma and pain and look like I belong in a swamp.

 

“Did you love them?” he asks, and once again I’m reminded of how innocent he is.

 

Of course I loved them. I would have died for them. I wanted to.

 

I smile. It’s a sad smile, but it’s all I can manage. Maybe by the end, he’ll understand.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

The night it—one night, they were supposed to be home by eight. It was half-ten and neither of them were there. Most of the time, they weren’t allowed to send a Patronus while on a mission, so I sent an owl to Grimmauld Place.

 

She returned with my letter intact, looking as forlorn as I felt.

 

Floo powder ready, I nearly fell over when the green flames lurched before me. Everything in me hoped to see Fabian or Gideon coming through, but instead, it was Minerva. It was odd for so many reasons, but I didn’t ask. I could only stand there and stare.

 

Minerva cleared her throat and asked if she could come through. She spent an inordinately strange amount of time fumbling with our liquor cabinet before she turned back with two glasses of rum. She handed one to me, told me to drink it with that stern tone she gets. You know the one—the one that says  _ do it, because _ .

 

I threw it back quickly, felt a dribble down my chin as it burned.

 

She asked if I knew why she was there.

 

I could only say one word: who?

 

Her face changed completely then. It became softer, older. She told me she was sorry. I remember the words exactly as she said them.

 

They were both so brave.

 

She kept talking, but I couldn’t concentrate. Were? What did that mean? Why did Minerva look like a marionette whose strings were cut, but kept moving anyway, mouth slightly off with the script?

 

I watched as she tilted her head in concern and some part of me wanted it to keep tilting, to roll right off and hit the floor.

 

It didn’t.

 

I had to force myself to pay attention. I heard words about Death Eaters and attack and the number five. The name I heard repeatedly was Dolohov.

 

Is he alive? I asked. I can’t even remember why.

 

She told me no one was close enough. So they were alone. They were alone and I wasn’t there and no one else was—

 

Everything was garbled as if I were under water. I struggled to the surface, clawing desperately through the fog until I nearly screamed.

 

Wait! Both of them?

 

My brain knew, then, that something was wrong. Something was missing, but it couldn’t process the information.

 

She nodded.

 

All I could say was the word  _ no _ over and over and over again.

 

I heard her say my name. It is a short name, not so common.

 

It didn’t get through. I was already gone.

 

She repeats it and I could hear the syrupy slow words as if she’s trying to force them into my ears.

 

Poppy, they’re gone.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

“What?”

 

His hands grip the camera so tightly, I fear he’s going to break something. Not that it matters anymore, anyway.

 

“What do you mean gone?” He’s on the edge of his seat now. “Did they—”

 

I nod, just as Minerva did back then.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

I know what you’re thinking.

 

Both of them? That seems a bit impossible, right? Not when they were determined to live and die as brothers. Unbeknownst to me, they requested to be partnered on missions together or to do background work if they couldn’t.

 

This was one of those times when Dumbledore needed everyone.  _ Everyone _ . That meant my boys, so he sent them.

 

They were eager to go. I can’t blame them, really. The war meant something to them. They felt as if they were making a difference, as if their actions could sway the outcome of something so much larger than themselves.

 

I’m not sure if any of it worked. I’m not sure if their sacrifice was worth it…

  
XXXXXXXXXXX

 

“But—”

 

I stare at him, waiting for the words to come, but he seems unable to find them. His posture shifts from annoyance back to curiosity and he sits back, waiting for me to continue. It’s interesting to watch the furrow of his brows and how they pull together, slide away, then find their way back.

 

“I just.”

 

He waits.

 

So do I.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

So am I.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

I took some time away from Hogwarts. Dumbledore said he understood. Said my job would be here when I was ready.

 

I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready.

 

Somehow, that persistent bastard knew I had a bleeding heart. Two weeks later, he shows up with Remus on my doorstep, torn apart by another werewolf pack. Poor thing was a mess. I took such good care of him in school and he looked at me like the lost little boy I remembered.

 

I spent several days fixing him up. Just the two of us, stuck at my house. He reminded me why I wanted to become a healer. When he was ready to leave and Sirius came over to Floo him home, I pulled him into a hug.

 

Remus isn’t one for casual affection. I’m pretty sure I surprised him, but he allowed it and I whispered a quiet  _ thank you _ in his ear before Sirius took him home.

 

Hogwarts felt more welcoming after that. I gave up the flat. Moved in to the Healer quarters here on the ward.

 

It was a long time before I understood what Dumbledore did in bringing Remus to me. Though I have my issues with the man, he brought me back my passion. There’s a reason I chose this field and there’s a reason I stayed.

 

Despite not being able—despite not being able to save  _ them _ , I know I’ve helped others.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

“What about now?”

 

The question seems odd. I’m ready to ask him what he means, but he gets there first.

 

“Are things different now that the war is over?” He looks down to where his feet hover just above the patterned floor. “Now that it’s over for good?”

 

I want to help this boy. I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything will be all right. But it won’t. It can’t. He knows that.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

So many things have changed. We’ve lost a lot of friends. Family. The wizarding world needs to heal. I don’t think I’m up for it this time. I did my duty in the last war. I stuck around for this one, but I think it’s time someone else takes over.

 

I think we both know that things will be different this time. I’m not needed anymore. I can breathe a bit. Perhaps I’ll move to the country and raise owls like Gideon and I used to talk about before…

_ before. _

 

I wish I could have done more for you, Colin. If there had been more time. If there hadn’t been so much going on, I might have been able to—

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

“You can’t blame yourself.”

 

He sets the camera down and goes to stand. It’s odd watching him move. I can see where the light wants to bend around him, through him, but I’m trying to focus on the substantial parts of him.

 

His mouth quirks up at the edge. “You’ve earned your retirement, Madam.”

 

I don’t deserve anything. I’ve fought for it, but so has he. He’s too young for this. He should have married, had children, grandchildren.

 

I want more for him.

 

“Don’t worry about me. I can see it weighing on you. You did what you could.”

 

The gouge in his side is partially covered by his arm, the camera he fiddles with. He keeps it there most of the time, hiding it, but I know where it is. I tried to heal the curse, but they’d found him too late.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

I’m sorry, Colin. I wish…

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

“Ah, well, if wishes were galleons, yes?”

 

He’s smiling and I can’t help but wipe away my tears. I’m trying to hide it from him, but I know he sees. He’s too sharp. Everyone discounted him when he was a student, but Colin paid attention.

 

“At least now I can help run the newspaper, help them learn to take proper photographs.”

 

His laughter is light, but it’s so heavy on my chest. I feel the weight of it and I’m trying to run, but my legs are stuck to the chair.

 

“I think that’s all I needed. I’ll have to have one of the others take your photograph before you leave. Is that all right?”

 

I nod.

 

“Brilliant. Thank you for today, for everything. Your story meant a lot to me. I’ll be focusing on your Healer training and background for the article, but do you mind if I mention Gideon and Fabian?”

 

Their names are a shock to my ears. I’ve been saying them all day, but it’s been an age since anyone else has dared say them aloud.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

No, Colin. I don’t mind. Gideon and Fabian Prewett were two of the most beautiful souls in this world. They gave everything to see it become a better place. They would be happy to know it’s finally happening.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

“One last question, if you don’t mind?”

 

I can see it burning through him. Whatever it is, he might follow me until he finds the answer.

 

“Why were you never a member of the Order? You knew so much about them and you helped after raids and everything. Why not join yourself?”

 

These are the questions I was hoping to avoid.

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

I’d already found my purpose, Colin. After everything—after I lost the boys, I realized I was nearly there. I was almost done.

 

But some wounds run too deep for healing.

 

Some of them scar. Some of them…

 

XXXXXXXXXXX

 

He fades a little, then. I wish there was more I could do for the boy. I wish someone had pulled him from that war and said it wasn’t his fight. Perhaps that was his purpose. After all, he has the time now to find out.


End file.
